


Devil’s in the Details

by Meduseld



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Illya is too easy, M/M, Napoleon is irritating in the best ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Napoleon gets under lllya’s skin.





	Devil’s in the Details

**Author's Note:**

> [Brodinson’s tags](http://brodinsons.tumblr.com/post/129034533040/kingsdarga-dying-bear-noise) on [this](http://kingsdarga.tumblr.com/post/128607987430/dying-bear-noise) made me do it.

Illya has learned to defer to Solo’s judgement when it comes to creating characters.

He says that this one must only drink cheap liquor, or that one will only have a certain kind of linen or a marked taste for a rare brand of caviar.

Before he would have said it was about taunting the CIA and living expensively on UNCLE’s dime. He knows now that that is only the surface of it, that he and art have an eye for each other, and that more often than not it is his hunger for detail that has turned death into success.

The man Solo is wearing now, McCabe or McCoy or some such, is a smoker.

Even now, away from the prying eyes of the trafficking ring McLeod is trying to enter, he’s smoking. And smirking. And breathing smoke directly into Illya’s face.

He won’t rise to the taunt.

Another thing he’s learned.

Trying to learn.

Solo slides closer, heel of his hand a whisper of pressure on Illya’s chest. It rises with his breaths. The smoke is blue in the moonlight.

Illya’s fingers are as solid as frozen earth when they pluck the cigarette away, and drop it onto the pavement. His heel crushes it more viciously than necessary. Solo’s lips purse.

“Problem, Cowboy?”

Solo smiles with all his teeth.

“No. Quite the opposite, actually".  

He tastes like an ashtray.

Illya doesn’t mind.


End file.
